


He Doesn't Look A Thing Like Jesus

by ouroborosnakes



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Ficlet, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroborosnakes/pseuds/ouroborosnakes
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Kudos: 25





	He Doesn't Look A Thing Like Jesus

> “Snake, can I ask you something?” Meryl had asked, stopping him. 
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “About what Mantis said… I was just wondering—”
> 
> “What?” Snake repeated, irritated; “What’s the problem now?”
> 
> “Oh, no, nothing,” her voice deflated, though it didn’t die. “So, tell me, Snake - what’s your name? Your _real_ name.”

“David?” Shuffling over, the sound of worn out rubber scraping against the cement followed Hal, oversized bathrobe fastened tightly around his waist. David’s bathrobe. Asking _what’s wrong_ was out of the question, Hal instead asking “what can I do?” 

Shaking his head, Dave releases his fist. He wasn’t holding a gun, he wasn’t in Alaska, he wasn’t with Meryl. No, he was in the gutters - metaphorically and literally. Hal must’ve seen him sitting out here and known something was wrong, as he always did. Sitting on the curb, empty-handed, by himself.

After taking off the robe and draping it over Dave’s shoulders, Hal sits, pulls his knees up to his chest and stares out at nothing in particular. He’s wearing a too-small tee, design faded from years of wear, and a pair of boxers, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The act of passing the robe was one of silent understanding; David returning it and instead covering Hal was one of equal gratitude. They sit in silence, cicadas filling the stagnant air. 

> “A name means nothing on the battlefield,” he answered, bitterly.
> 
> “How old are you?”
> 
> “Old enough to know what death looks like.” 
> 
> “Any family?” She kept prying, almost desperate to see inside his heart.
> 
> “No, but I was raised by many people.”

A sudden warm sensation blossoms goosebumps over Dave’s skin, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Hal had laced their fingers together. An action small enough to not draw attention but affectionate enough to show care, however subtle. Hal doesn’t say or make any movement, otherwise, but returns the squeeze David gives.

> “Is there… anyone you like?”
> 
> “I’ve never been interested in anyone else’s life.” 
> 
> “So you are all alone,” Meryl concluded, disappointed, “just like Mantis said.”
> 
> “Other people just complicate my life. I don’t like to get involved.”
> 
> “You’re a sad, lonely man,” she had said, words cold and painful, stabbing him down to his core. 

“Do you want to talk?” Hal asks, quietly. David had stopped clenching his jaw as tightly, but still slightly off centered, Hal attempting to pull him back if he were willing to. “What are you thinking about?”

“Meryl.” With a small nod, Hal turns his gaze from Dave’s face and down to their hands, still gripped comfortably together. “I wasn’t the hero she needed.” He inhales, slowly, steadily. It was a conversation they had more often than David would like to admit. She was young, naive, impressionable and Snake had failed her. His objective was to rescue her for Campbell's sake and she was killed because he was weak. Hal's hand squeezes, as if he could read Dave's mind. At this point, he probably could; the thought makes him crack a smile. 

"Hal," he says - voice light, easy. "You've got a tan line."

"Huh?" Turning their hands over, David presents the back of Hal's left hand, showcasing a sliver of pale skin on his ring finger. "Oh," he laughs, slightly flustered. "I took it off to wash dishes."

"Mm," Dave hums, looking over at his own hand, the streetlight catching the band in a glimmer. Letting go of their embrace for a moment to stand, Hal takes his hand to pull him up, then allows Dave to lazily wrap the robe around him, making him somewhat decent. 

"Come on, let's go." The words he had said to Meryl years ago taste differently on his tongue; not leading her to her untimely death through the snow, but leading his partner back up to their little home, hopefully not waking their daughter in the progress. 


End file.
